


Team Free Will Adopts a Monster

by Strings (fangirlgeekout)



Series: Monster 'verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domesticity in the Men of Letters Bunker, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Tickling, it's only Destiel if you squint - except for one chapter where it's a bit more obvious, tickle monster - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings
Summary: A collection of ficlets answering the question: What would happen if Team Free Will found a nest of little creatures related to the one fromMonster?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Monster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497528) by [Strings (fangirlgeekout)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings). 



> All content was originally posted between 2014–2016 on [Tumblr](http://wordstrings.tumblr.com/tagged/TFW-adopts-a-monster); some parts standalone, other parts in response to questions, comments, submitted headcanons, etc. I've tried to rework everything so it more or less tells a coherent story here on AO3, instead of being a dynamically-formed collection of content like it was originally.

A month after their encounter with the mysterious bogeyman-creature, Team Free Will stumbles across a nest of them.

Or, more accurately, Dean stumbles. Less ‘across,’ more ‘into.’ Because it’s kind of an unnervingly deep well-shaped hole in the ground, and  _Sam, I can feel something touching my leg, Cas, pull me up it’s touchingmylegGETMEOUTSAMMYCASHELP_  and everybody chooses not to mention later how Dean had started giggling before Cas managed to pull him free.

Thing is, the babies are pretty small, and Cas doesn’t notice the baseball-sized interdimensional distortion clinging to the back of Sam’s coat when they all duck back into the car.

A few days later, Dean’s lounging on a couch in the bunker library, zoned out with his headphones blasting. There’s a sudden, soft, wiggly tickle on his bare foot. He jerks it back and his eyes pop open, expecting to see somebody peeking over the edge of the couch, but no one is there. A few seconds later, the feeling hits his stomach. When he claws his shirt up to look, there’s nothing, but it still tickles and Dean doesn’t know what to do. He’s too distracted to make any sort of logical assumption as to what it is, so he just laughs and keeps batting at his stomach, but it keeps moving, darting from spot to spot and Dean can’t keep up. And soon whatever  _it_ , that  _feeling_ , is, it latches onto his hip, wiggling and squiggling, and Dean just gives up, flailing and cackling. He falls off the couch, at which point it abruptly stops.

He automatically assumes it was Cas and his mojo, because that’s happened too many times before. But, a short while later, he hears Cas shrieking with laughter and runs to investigate (and probably help whoever conveniently began his revenge for him). But when he finds Cas on the floor of his bedroom, rolling around and frantically rubbing at his underarms and then his neck and then kicking his legs and batting at his thighs and nearly  _screaming_  - there’s nothing there. No one but him and Cas. It’s eerily similar to that ‘tickle monster’ event from before.

That’s when it clicks, and a couple weeks of unsuccessful pursuit begins. Trying to locate and catch such a small, fast,  _invisible_  thing is difficult, as one might expect. And those weeks are filled with these incidents, of Dean or Cas or Sam or Kevin being tickled half to death by what appears to be nothing. But they’re always too uncoordinated when it happens, for obvious reasons, and it always manages to scamper away before they can grab it. (Which the humans are skeptical is even possible,  _grabbing_  it. But Cas insists it should be – something about its shifting abilities still being a little underdeveloped.) Finally, after three weeks of surprise tickle-attacks, Cas gets hold of it. They shut it up in a cat carrier to keep it from getting loose again.

Cas insists they have to keep the thing, at least for a little while, because otherwise it won’t survive without the care and energy it would naturally receive from the rest of its nest. ( _“And why the hell should I care? It’s not like it gives a crap about leaving_ our _lives unmolested.” “It’s a living thing, Dean. It deserves a chance.”_ ) So they’ll have to figure out how to feed it.

At some point, someone decides “that damn little monster” is insufficient and starts calling it Gigglefritz. It sticks.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Cas convinces Dean that they need to purposely feed the little creature they finally apprehended, it’s been two days since they caged it.

Either Kevin or Sam is responsible for trying to name the thing. Dean isn’t sure who, but he thinks it’s idiotic. One, it’s a  _monster_ , not a stray kitten, and they’re just keeping it contained until they can figure out what to do with it. Two,  _Gigglefritz_? (Dean’s voice pitches upward incredulously when he says it.) Ludicrous.

But Cas has his puppy dog eyes on, and Dean manages to stare him down for eight whole seconds before the foundation of his stony expression crumbles. He mutters irritably the whole way to the bedroom, which is really  _not_  where he wants to make this memory but they need an enclosed space so the thing can’t go running off again.

\---

_Fear. Hunger. It’s never been_ alone _like this, separated from its nestmates, trapped in a small space with barriers on all sides. The tall creatures that keep walking by smell like nutrients it craves, but they’re loud and frightening._

_When one of them breaches the barrier and reaches for it, it cowers. The touch of the Tall’s skin makes it want to latch on and never let go, but terrifies it all the same. Its tentacles squirm with anxiety, wrapping and unwrapping around the Tall’s own tentacles, which are hard and jointed and dig their ends into its body so it can’t get away. A smog of apprehension hangs thick in the air, originating mostly from the other Tall they’re approaching, and it doesn’t like it at all. It tries to writhe out of its captor’s grasp, but an unexpected rush of Calm gives it pause. The captor Tall’s bony grip loosens and strokes it. It’s not quite like the touch of a nestmate, but similar enough that it stops struggling for a moment._

_Suddenly there’s more skin, much more. Softer and warmer under its tentacles, and twitching in a way that makes its craving flare. The hunger briefly drowns out the fear, and it strokes instinctively. The resulting huff is unbearably enticing, and it brushes again in desperate search of a stronger one._  

\---

“I  _hate you_ ,” Dean growls through clenched teeth, then he hisses and forcibly chokes back a stuttering sound at the end.

“It requires nourishment, Dean.” Castiel hovers over his bared middle, hands poised cautiously in case he needs to grab the miniature monster. “And this will be over more quickly if you just laugh and give it what it needs.”

Dean tilts his head up to look at the Nothing he can feel fondling his stomach, then slams his head back with a whining groan and swings his clenching fists up toward his shoulders in redirected frustration. “Sh-shhhit, it tickles,” he grouses ( _not_ whimpers) and resists the urge to swat at the increasingly torturesome feeling.

“Just  _laugh_ , Dean.”

Castiel sounds amused, and Dean glares up at him. But the firm set of his mouth suddenly cracks open with a, “Pfffff _ah_ ,” and then Dean’s writhing in place, spouting breathy giggles. The damn thing has found his navel and is squiggling a tendril inside it.

“Oh f-fuhuhuuuck, wait, NO,” he gasps when Cas grabs his wrists and pushes them down on the mattress in line with his shoulders.

“I don’t want you to hurt it,” Castiel says, but he’s definitely being a smirky asshole. Dean arches up against the hold and finally, honestly  _laughs_.

\---

_After weeks of solitude and furtive attacks that never lasted long enough to really count as a meal, the Tall’s laughter is positively exquisite. It’s energizing and emboldening and tastes_ so good _, and the fear is melting away the longer it goes uninterrupted._

_When the bony grasp eventually wraps around it again, there’s a gentleness there that doesn’t trigger the same anxiety this time. Feeling well-fed, it coils its tentacles around Calm Tall’s appendages, stroking like a proper nestmate does, in case Calm Tall wants to know how. After a pause, the touch is returned, clumsy but better than before. Food Tall is still letting out little sounds when breathing, and they’re weaker from the increasing distance but still tasty._

_It doesn’t like going back in the isolation-box, but the next time Calm Tall comes for it, it reaches back eagerly._

\---

It turns into a schedule. Morning is Dean’s turn, evening is Castiel’s. The tiny beast (“Fritzy”) learns the routine after a few days and becomes surprisingly obedient. In the morning, Cas takes it out and carries it over to where Dean is laying on the couch. He sets it on Dean’s belly, holds Dean’s arms above his head, and the little creature goes to town, scurrying all over Dean, tickling whatever area necessary to get the type of laughter it’s hungry for that morning. (It learns surprisingly quickly how both Dean and Cas tick, and knows exactly what to do and where to do it in order to get what it wants.) In the evening, they repeat the process, but with Dean and Cas’ roles reversed.

And just like that, they become unwitting foster parents to a little baby tickle monster.


	3. Chapter 3

The isolation box opens, like it does every cycle, and Fritzy stirs and reaches for Calm Tall’s approaching grasp. When they touch, Fritzy perks with surprise. Not Calm Tall. Instead, it’s the one that usually feeds it.

Fritzy thinks there are sound patterns that the Talls use to identify each other, which get repeated often, but it can’t remember the sound for this one, the Food Tall. Or for Calm Tall, either. Fritzy will need to pay closer attention, especially since it seems Fritzy will be kept with them for a while.

“Hey little guy… thing. How d'you feel about a secret mission this morning, hm?”

Fritzy doesn’t know what the sounds mean, but Food Tall smells like Playfulness. Fritzy entwines its smooth tentacles with the Tall’s jointed bony ones and allows itself to be carried to a different place than usual. This new space smells strongly of Calm Tall, and Fritzy relaxes habitually.

“Ca-as…” Food Tall sing-songs quietly, and Fritzy notes the sound before it falls away into more nonsense syllables. “Breakfast in bed.”

There’s a grumble, and the coverings Fritzy is being held over rustle around, releasing a concentrated mixture of stale Sleep and fresh Irritation. That’s a new combination from normally-Calm Tall –  _Cas_ – and Fritzy balks a little.

“Go away, Dean.” And there’s the sound for the other one.  _Dean_.

Dean doesn’t say anything else, but lifts the edge of the coverings and deposits Fritzy there with a little nudge. Fritzy recognizes the move as encouragement. Cas’ scent still makes it hesitant, but Dean’s mood usually improves after providing a feeding, so perhaps the same will happen with Cas. Maybe Dean is counting on Fritzy to help Cas feel better. Plus, Fritzy’s hungry anyway.

Fritzy ventures blindly toward the warmth of Cas’ body, pushing itself under the heaviness of the coverings. When it reaches flesh and climbs up, Cas gasps and a hand comes sailing toward Fritzy, only to stop abruptly at the last second.

“Dean.” Cas’ mumbling voice is heavy with Warning. “Why is Gigglefritz here.”

“I said 'breakfast in bed.’ Didn’t specify whose.”

Fritzy ignores the foreign vocal exchange in favor of concentrating on the texture of Cas’ skin. It’s a little different from Dean’s, firmer but with no rough, raised marks scattered along it. Fritzy crawls around for a moment, trying to get its bearings and find the small skin-pit that marks the center of its usual feeding area. There it is. Fritzy hooks a tentacle into it to pull itself forward.

Whatever Cas is saying locks up into a giggle.

Ooh, that’s good. Fritzy wiggles the tip more purposefully into the opening, and fans the rest of itself out to tickle the surrounding area. Cas snorts and curls partially to one side, and Fritzy has to hang on tightly to keep from falling off. There seems to be a patch where the muscles twitch harder than the rest, somewhere… there. A squeak leads to stronger giggles that are appetizingly sweet. Fritzy drinks them in, keeps working that spot while feeling around for another just as sensitive, finds one, analyzes the flavors being produced.

Cas squawks suddenly, and Fritzy finds its workspace much less constricted.

“No, let go, let me gohoho! Deeehehehean!”

“You were gonna squish it. And you hold  _me_  down all the time.”

“N-not when you were just sleeheeping!”

Cas’ tone sounds plaintive and irked, but there’s no actual Anger simmering through his energy, so Fritzy explores upward to try some of the new areas that are now safely available. There’s a sugary rush of laughter and stunted squirming when Fritzy breaches the edge of light at the top of the covers to get at Cas’ underarms, which Dean is happily helping to expose.

“It’s too early for thihihihiiis!” Cas wails. Fritzy still has no idea what he’s saying, but the undercurrent of Merriment tells Fritzy all it needs to know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Fritzy added to the mix, life in the bunker looks something like this...

 

Dean and Cas have a silly argument, and Dean gets fed up with how  _right_ and  _logical_  Cas has to be all the damn time, so he tackles Cas on the bed, then whistles sharply. Cas looks all shocked and betrayed (or he would, if he weren’t already giggling nervously and struggling), then yelps and starts cackling because they haven’t fed Gigglefritz its dinner yet so it’s a bit more enthusiastic than usual. Dean doesn’t call it off until Cas swears Dean is right.

—

Cas is making a PB&J sandwich at the counter in the kitchen when Fritzy shows up and climbs up his leg, because it’s looking for a little snack just like Cas is. Cas giggles and scrunches his shoulders as it crawls up to his neck then slides down to rest on top of the bases of his dimension-shifted wings. He squeaks and drops the knife back into the peanut butter jar when the little baby tentacles start lightly tickling the closed undersides of his folded wings. Cas struggles to just put the two halves of his sandwich together while he laughs and wriggles, shaking out one wing and then the other in a futile, halfhearted attempt to dislodge the cheeky little menace.

—

Fritzy likes cuddling with Dean and Cas while they watch a funny movie, because it’s like getting random little treats whenever either of them chuckle at the screen. It snuggles up between them, and that’s how Dean and Cas are the first ones to discover that these creatures do some equivalent of purring when they’re very comfortable and content. It’s  _felt_  more than heard, but it’s very soothing.

—

Sam, in his infinite brilliance, figures out how to make a physical collar for a dimensional shifter like Fritzy. He attaches a little bell to it. So now there’s this little floating collar jingling as it squiggles along close to the floor. Cas claims Fritzy is growing, but Dean doesn’t think it really seems much bigger as far as he can tell.


	5. Chapter 5

“Riiight,” Sam drawls slowly without looking up from tapping his keyboard. When there is no immediate response, he does a sort of double-take up at Dean and Castiel, who are still standing beside the table. “…Wait. You’re not serious, are you?”

“It’s gotta have a varied diet, man,” Dean frowns. “You’re always the one harping on the food pyramid and shit.”

“But– but it’s a  _tickle monster_. It only eats one thing. That’s sort of,” Sam furrows his brows, gesturing vaguely, “…the whole point.”

Cas takes half a step forward. “I believe Gigglefritz does consume more than one type of energy, but I haven’t been able to thoroughly test that hypothesis yet. Regardless, Dean does have a point; even within a singular food source, natural variety is beneficial.”

Sam’s mouth hangs open a little for a few seconds. Then he shuts his laptop with a decisive click as he pushes his chair back to stand. “Nope.”

His right foot is in the middle of taking a long stride away from the table when a hand clamps around his bicep and pulls. Sam stumbles and helplessly pivots in the direction Dean is dragging him.

“Hey! I said no way, you’re not…  _feeding_  me to that thing!”

“Cas, a little help.”

And that’s how Sam ends up being manhandled toward the Feeding Couch, his heels squeaking uselessly along the tiled floor. Nervous laughter bubbles in his throat as he struggles against his brother on one side and an angel on the other.

“Guys, c’mon– shit! No no no, don’t!” But he’s wrestled down onto the cushions anyway, with Dean’s grinning face hovering directly over him.

“Remember how I used to tickle the crap out of you when we were kids?” Dean says, looking far too gleeful. “Think you still got some giggles buried in your enormous self?”

“I don’t  _giggle_ ,” Sam scowls, but the approaching jingle of a bell has him tensing up. He lifts his head to see the small fuchsia collar bounding toward the couch. “Oh f– Fritzy, no! Bad Fritzy! Get it away-hehehee! No, NO, PLEASE, PLEEHEHEEASE!”

“Sounds like giggles to me, Sammy. Whaddaya think, Fritzy, five stars?”

“N-not there, oh Gohohod, FritzeeEEE!”

“Sam does have a distinct tone of laughter,” Castiel comments, holding down Sam’s jerking legs with relative ease. “I think this would be a good addition to Fritzy’s regular diet.”

For as much as Sam wants to protest coherently, his need to squirm and laugh ( _not_  giggle) wins out. And honestly, it isn’t quite so bad as he’d been imagining; all his expectations are based on Dean’s overzealous attacks from years before, which had usually left him gasping and mildly bruised. But Fritzy, while thorough, is simply quick and delicate, nowhere near the panic-inducing mercilessness Sam fears. Maybe being on the menu isn’t as terrible as it sounds.


	6. Chapter 6

“So, Mrs. Carter, when was the last time you, um, the last time you saw your, uh, boyfriend?” Sam shifts in his seat, chasing away a phantom itch.

“Sixty years ago, just before he died,” Mrs. Carter’s pleasantly wavering voice answers.

Sam’s brows furrow. “You said you’d gotten a call from him Sunday.”

“I did.” Mrs. Carter smiles. “He was very pleasant.”

Sam frowns.

Dean tosses him a look and leans forward on the couch, settling his elbows on his knees. “Now, Mrs. Carter, when you say  _pleasant…_ ”

Dean’s voice falls away into a background droning as Sam rubs at his temples. His headache from that morning still hasn’t gone away. He shifts against another itch, then freezes.  _Not an itch._

“…isn’t that right, Agent Wilson?” Dean has his charm-the-ladies (even-when-they’re-grandmas) smile on, and Sam tries to school the panic from his face. He has no idea what his brother had just been saying, but that is possibly the  _least_ important thing at the moment.

“Absolutely,” Sam answers with as much confidence as he can muster. There it is again, a movement inside his suit jacket. He keeeps his eyes locked on Mrs. Carter’s kindly face. “That’s– that’s absolute-leehee correct.” He clears his throat and leans forward to make a grab for the china platter on the coffee table while he rubs an elbow against his side. His reach lands on a teacup rather than a butter cookie. Good enough.

Dean picks up the conversation again, and Sam sits back on the couch with his newly acquired teacup. This is bad. This is very, very bad.

More movement, down at his side against his dress shirt. It doesn’t just shift and stop this time, though; it crawls a few inches, then wriggles. Sam hiccoughs. He brings the teacup up to his lips to disguise it, then splutters straight into it when a distinct tickle trails along his side.

A strong side-eye from Dean silently asks what the hell is going on.

_Fritzy_ , Sam mouths, wide-eyed.

Dean scowls.  _Freaky what?_

Sam squirms at another tickle.  _No, FRIT-zee_.

Understanding blooms on Dean’s face, followed by a pause, and then a smirk. “What was that you were saying about your cat’s unusual behavior, Mrs. Carter?” he says, turning his attention away from Sam.

“De–” Sam starts to hiss, then has to bite down on his lip for a moment to stifle a chuckle. The miniature monster is creeping around his waist, working its way onto his stomach. Little tentacles poke at him through his shirt, wiggle exploratorily, sneak through the button placket to his skin. He folds over with a huff and shoves the teacup back into place on the platter as an excuse for the movement, then belatedly realizes he can’t just stay there, bent nearly in half on an old lady’s floral couch. Sam sits up jerkily, fists clamped around the front edges of his suit jacket. A tentacle finds his belly button. He snorts.

“…And her fur just… Oh, are you alright, dear? The powder room is just around the corner if you need it.”

“No, I’m f-fine,” Sam chokes. “I ha-have to make a call to my supervisor. I’ll be i-in the car, Agent, uh, Agent… Agent.” He stumbles to his feet, one arm clutched to his stomach.

Dean thumbs over his shoulder after him, making an apologetic face to Mrs. Carter. “He’s been having some indigestion trouble. Bad donuts.”


	7. Chapter 7

“No, no, wait!” Sam’s heart is up in his throat, and he fights with elbows and knees in a futile attempt to break out of Dean’s and Castiel’s hold. He’s already laughing, he can’t help it, because he can see Fritzy’s collar perched at the top of the couch, waiting for him, and that wouldn’t be quite so bad by itself, except Sam knows that’s not all that’s in store for him.

Dean grins. “Nope, no waiting, Sam.”

“Can’t we– can’t we talk about this, like normal people?” He hears the way his voice cracks upward, and sees how Dean’s eyes narrow, and yeah, he’s definitely screwed.

“Puberty gettin’ to you again?” Dean teases. “Wonder if you’ll go all high-pitched like you used to, back before you were a teen titan.”

Castiel helps hoist Sam horizontally onto the couch and makes embarrassingly quick work of pinning Sam’s arms above his head. Dean swings a leg up and plops down on Sam’s shins, facing his feet. Fritzy’s collar wiggles like it does every time the growing monster anticipates a good meal, and it pounces down to land on Sam’s stomach.

“Now, normally,” Dean says, turning over his shoulder to address Sam, “I might give you the opportunity to reflect. Apologize. Correct your path. But this is the… uh… how many times has this happened, Cas?”

“Three,” Castiel offers gravely from over Sam’s head.

“The  _third_  time, Sammy. Leaving Baby’s gas gauge practically bottomed out is just rude. Three strikes. And now you’re out, little brother.”

Sam doesn’t even get a breath to defend himself before he’s seized with sudden laughter. Castiel’s long fingers dance over his armpits, Dean spiders mercilessly up his soles, and Fritzy is everywhere across his stomach and sides. Sam arches desperately, helplessly, shrieking and twisting to get away from the tickling that overwhelms half his body.

“I’m sorryyyyy-heehee!” he cries, and jolts like he’s been electrocuted when Fritzy squiggles two small tentacles in his belly button. “NOhoho, stopstopstop please! I s-swear, I-hehehe– NAAAHAHA!”

“Sounds just like old times,” Dean says cheerfully. “Still just as ticklish as ever, aren’t ya, Sammy? Like riiight here on your feet, drives you just crazy, doesn’t it? Cas, you findin’ the good spots up there?”

Unfortunately, yes, Cas is finding the good spots. The terrible spots, actually. The dreadful, awful, horrible ones that make Sam’s brain go tingly and his throat feel hoarse with laughter. His arms are burning with the strain of useless pulling.

“I bet Fritzy’s doing a pretty good job, too, isn’t it?” Dean continues. “All those tentacles, all over that sensitive stomach of yours, gotta be hell. Way worse than I ever got you. Remember how you’d scream?”

Just about the only difference from back then is that Sam’s got marginally better self-control now, and that’s the only reason he isn’t screaming. He is cackling, though, and Dean’s teasing definitely isn’t helping.

“Staahahahaaap!”

“If you admit you’re still just a ticklish little kid, I might. Coochie coo, Sammy!”

Sam tries to kick at him, is thwarted by Dean’s weight on his legs. Cas is still tickling, light and maddening, up and down his underarms, and Fritzy’s got itself splayed wide over Sam’s ribcage. Sam won’t escape this torment until Dean instructs them to let him go, and he really doesn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction, but the facts are that he’s gasping and exhausted and there are tears of laughter welling in his eyes.

“Okay!” Sam wheezes. “Okay-hehehe!” He pulls in a ragged breath as Castiel’s fingers slow to a stop and Dean waves Fritzy away.

Dean wiggles one of Sam’s toes pinched between his fingers. “Let’s hear it,” he grins.

“I’m…” Sam pauses to breathe a few times, still giggling. “I’m just a– a ticklish kid.”

“Yeah, you are,” Dean agrees with a light slap to Sam’s leg. He stands, smirking. “Next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

Sam wipes his eyes, then rolls them.


	8. Chapter 8

Kevin never really seems to understand why everyone likes this thing. Probably because he never really forgave it for how it attacked him back when it first smuggled itself in. But then one day they find Kevin sound asleep on a couch, with the partially-hovering fuschia collar indicating that Gigglefritz is sprawled out on top of him, purring soothingly. Kevin doesn’t seem to have any problem with it after that.

—

Charlie comes to visit, and she just about loses her mind from the cuteness of the whole situation. She falls in love with Fritzy immediately, and insists on holding it and petting it and cooing at it, and even lets it snack a little on her toes while she’s curled up reading in the bunker library.

—

This little monster seems to love everyone it meets, and is way smarter than anyone thought it could be. Sam postulates about nature versus nurture. As Fritzy gets bigger (which Dean is eventually forced to admit, as Sam manufactures a larger collar), it does require a little more feeding, but not too much, surprisingly. Cas theorizes that the creatures often go for extended periods of time in the wild without eating, so the small doses they keep giving it are keeping it perfectly satisfied.

—

Cas curls over the kitchen table in the bunker, lethargic wings hunched invisibly over his shoulders, hands wrapped protectively around a steaming mug of coffee as he blinks slowly at it and wills himself the strength to actually lift it to his lips. He hasn’t even noticed the collar jingling after him through the last few rooms, and it now sits patiently on the floor behind him, waiting to be acknowledged. When Cas feels a gentle stroke down one wing, he’s still too tired to even startle at the unexpected touch. When the stroke turns ticklish, he hunches a little further and pulls his wings in a bit more as he smiles down at his coffee. When the tickle doesn’t stop, he giggles reluctantly and curls his toes under the bench seat, but still doesn’t turn around to greet the growing monster. Fritzy, determined to get the attention it wants, brings more tentacles to bear until Cas’ wings are twitching and pressing as close as they can to his back while he giggles almost directly into his coffee mug.

—

Charlie insists on making Fritzy a Christmas stocking. There’s a lot of confusion about what exactly would go in it, but come Christmas morning, there’s a little homemade coupon booklet inside with options like “five minutes on Cas’ left wing” and “two comedy movies with Kevin and Sam.” Random ones get picked out every once in a while, and overall the monster seems very pleased with the idea of Christmas.

—

Months later, when Sam mentions that Charlie’s coming to visit again soon, Fritzy seems impatient, spending a lot of time in the rooms closest to the bunker’s main door. They know Fritzy loves Charlie, due to how naturally bouncy she is, so they figure it’s just anxiously awaiting her pleasant energy.

When the day finally arrives, Charlie barely gets in the door before her bags are shoved aside and an invisible tentacle coils around her wrist. She’s led/dragged behind the floating, tinkling collar into the kitchen. Dean hardly gets the chance to give her a welcoming hug before his wrist is grabbed as well. They’re pulled through the bunker, picking up people from different rooms as they go, until Fritzy pushes them all toward the biggest couch in the library - Charlie, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Kevin. They all sit, confused, until Fritzy jingles over to the spot where the coupons are kept, and returns waving one that gets slapped against Dean’s chest.

It says “ _All-You-Can-Eat Dinner Buffet: Feet_.” Fritzy has clearly been saving it for the most variety to taste from, and the enthusiasm over Charlie’s visit suddenly clicks. With a groan, they all start toeing off their shoes while Sam reaches forward to pull the coffee table closer. Ten feet are rested atop it, all in a row, and Fritzy wiggles happily before cashing in.

—

The first time Gabriel shows up in the bunker after all this occurs, it’s actually Cas’ idea to take the pet collar off and sneak Fritzy around to surprise Gabriel from behind. Fritzy is  _very_  happy to suddenly have  _six whole wings_  to play with. After Gabe gets over his initial consternation at being attacked unawares, he bonds dangerously closely with the growing monster. Alternately siccing it on Sam and Kevin becomes his new favorite pastime.

—

Sam gets up early one morning to go for a run, as per routine. He tells himself he’s not disappointed that Fritzy wasn’t snuggled up with him when he woke up; that monster makes its bed wherever it wants to nowadays, and it’s probably purring against Cas or Kevin at the moment. Sam does feel like he’s usually in a better mood when he wakes up next to Fritzy, though.

When he gets back from his run, Dean and Kevin are already in the kitchen eating breakfast. Cas stumbles in shortly after, making a beeline for the coffee machine. Sam casually asks where Fritzy slept, and after three shaking heads, they all stop for a second. Fritzy doesn’t like going more than half an hour without company.  _So where the hell is he?_

( _Fritzy doesn’t have a gender_ , Cas corrects for the countless time, but looks appropriately concerned.)

And so begins a search of the bunker, from top to bottom. Whistling, calling, even a few forced laughs don’t bring the monster out of hiding. Dean’s starting to panic when a distant yell from Kevin brings him running.

Turns out Fritzy found the basement. And, by extension, Crowley. By the appearance of things, Fritzy’s been gorging itself half the night.

Nobody spares much empathy for Crowley, who is a trembling, giggling, useless mess by the time they manage to pry Fritzy off of him. But they have to put Fritzy on a more controlled diet for the next week due to indigestion.

—

It's one thing they’ve all tried to be very careful about. Like trying to train a dog to stop jumping up on guests, they do their best to let Fritzy know it has to behave. And that includes not attacking people unawares or getting aggressive with feeding. It’s a good thing they started when Fritzy was small, because there’s no way to really fight it off now that it’s grown.

They still stick to the feeding schedule, but it’s no longer a two-person job. One doesn’t have to hold the other down anymore, which is convenient - for the onlooker, at least.

It’s the non-scheduled mealtimes that tend to get a little out of hand. It doesn’t happen often, but playtime sometimes ends up with an overexcited monster getting a bit caught up in ~~bloodlust~~ laughterlust. And of course, it’s usually Dean’s fault. He gets Fritzy all riled up and overstimulated, and nobody blames their cute not-so-little tickle monster for pinning him down in a fit of excitement and tickling the everloving daylights out of him. It usually depends on the other bunker inhabitants how long it goes on. Either they get sick of the noise and put an end to it, or (as is often the case with Dean) if the playmate/victim has made a nuisance of themselves recently, they’ll let Fritzy self-regulate.

From the receiver’s point of view, it’s definitely a different experience from getting into a tickle fight with another person. For one, there is no fighting back. And this isn’t just some friend who knows what general spots to go for while trying to see who can overpower who. Gigglefritz is an intelligent, evolved tickling specialist, attuned to every fine detail of one's physical reactions and nervous system. Its sole objective is laughter, and there is literally nothing else on the planet that does a better job at obtaining it.

That means, perhaps surprisingly, that the victim doesn't get pushed too far. Not being able to breathe sufficiently would cause a drop in laughter clarity and volume, which isn’t quite as tasty, apparently, and feelings of genuine distress taint the experience with a bitter aftertaste that Fritzy isn’t a big fan of. So yes, you’ll be tickled nearly out of your mind, but your endorphins will be flying high by the time it’s over.

The general result, then, is that no one in the bunker can remember the last time they felt this good for this long.


	9. Chapter 9

Thing is, none of them really know what Gigglefritz looks like, and it weirds Dean out if he thinks about it too much, so he doesn’t. (Kevin insists that Fritzy would be green, for reasons that escape logic. Cas tries to point out the fact that Fritzy reflects no light in the visible spectrum and therefore has no color at all. Dean scoffs at both of them because Fritzy would clearly be a mottled mauve.)

When they first started taking care of it, Dean could hold the invisible blob of Fritzy in his cupped hands and feel the little tentacles coiling for purchase around his fingers and wrists. The amorphous little monster liked perching on shoulders and snuggling up into the crooks of necks (which was more problematic for some people than for others), but there never seemed to be an identifiable face or head, from what anyone can tell.

Within a month or two, Fritzy was too big to sit on one shoulder anymore, so it took to clinging around people’s upper backs like a sentient knapsack, with thickening velvety tentacles twining around upper arms and collars and tops of shoulders. Its weight is both  _there_  and  _not there_ , definitely tangible but not any sort of burden. Everyone gets used to it fairly quickly, and Fritzy is irreversibly spoiled for getting to stay in physical contact with one person or another nearly 24/7.

It isn’t like the bunker’s residents never get anything out of that arrangement, though. While Fritzy’s main energy source will always be laughter, it seems like all-around positive moods make it that much happier, and Fritzy has a knack for identifying when someone is having a sour day. The growing monster will curl up over that person’s shoulders and press one of its two primary tentacles – the ones with the little nubs on the underside that vibrate – to the back of the person’s neck and give a surprisingly good silent vibrating massage. It isn’t long before the bunker is basically a haven of relaxation for anyone who visits.

Eventually, Fritzy falls prey to the same delusion that all big dogs seem to struggle with: the perception that they’re still small enough to fit where they used to, even when they clearly don’t anymore. This often takes the form of someone being smothered on the couch with a heavy-but-not mass of invisible tentacled beast, the bulk of which is approximately the size of a large laundry basket. At least it never blocks the view of the television screen. The way Fritzy will settle in and purr is lulling, though, and means that falling asleep during movies becomes a far more common occurrence.

Nobody regrets letting this monster into their lives.


	10. Chapter 10

Closed doors. They’re barriers. Used to be that barriers were a problem, but they’re not anymore. Fritzy is good at getting through barriers. Just have to bend things the right way, bend itself and a little of the matter at the point where they meet, and  _through_  is easy. But closed doors are still barriers. Not supposed to go through them, or through other walls into the places they hide. Not sure why. But that’s a No.

That smell is drifting again, the energy that Fritzy has often sensed but never consumed more than just the edges of. Love and Happy and Pleased, tinged with some Tired, but not the unpleasant kind that Kevin often has. This particular combination is always enticing, but also always accompanied by closed doors. Fritzy has learned to pass it by.

Except. Oh. There’s no closed door.

This is the place that is hot and wet, where the Talls come out with warm skin dripping. Fritzy doesn’t like it when it’s not hot, because the floors and the walls are all draining-cold. But when it  _is_  hot, the pervading dampness is unpleasant. Fritzy generally avoids this place.

But the enticing smell is here. And no closed door.

Fritzy ventures in, tolerating the moisture clinging everywhere for the sake of seeking out the source. Doesn’t take long to find it – Dean and Castiel are here, and the Love-Happy-Pleased-Tired energy radiates from them and Fritzy bounds closer to soak it in. It’s teasingly tasty, delicious, makes Fritzy want more. Since these two usually volunteer most of Fritzy’s meals anyway, Fritzy doesn’t even think twice before pouncing.

Apparently the wet makes Talls unstable, because Dean comes down to the floor quickly with a zing of Surprise. The sweet-sour twang is a thrill and Fritzy dives in with practiced ease, clutching and stroking and touching Dean in all the ways that produce the familiar bubbling laughter Fritzy thrives on.

But rather than the typical response, Dean’s aura explodes with sharp flavor, more intense than it’s ever been before. Dean makes a lot more noise, too; a desperate string of the usual nonsense words along with a few new ones that Fritzy isn’t sure of the meaning of. Everything is so vivid that it takes Fritzy several seconds to properly identify the acidity of distress that’s washing over Dean’s energy.

Fritzy reels back, abruptly drawing away and tucking in on itself. The potent taste lingering in the clouds of steam is luscious and tempting, but Dean was  _harrowed_  and Fritzy does not want to cause that again.

But then Castiel is there, sensed through the haze of Fritzy’s shock, and– Castiel is laughing, bright with helpless Amusement. Fritzy tastes it carefully but doesn’t reach for more. There is conflicting information here, and Fritzy can’t quite determine if it did a No by accident. The uncertainty is sobering.

Dean grumbles from the floor, and Fritzy moves to help him up, wanting to mend whatever harm may have occurred. Dean flinches away from Fritzy’s touch at first, which tears at something inside Fritzy’s awareness, but then Dean accepts the help and stumbles upright. He covers part of himself with his hands, sort of how he does when Fritzy finds a vulnerable place that makes him laugh more, but Fritzy isn’t trying to touch him there, nor did it try before. Strange. Castiel is still laughing, and maybe that means that things are okay.

But Fritzy is definitely avoiding that smell from now on.


	11. Chapter 11

Kevin wakes with a gasp, his legs sticking to the sheets and his neck feeling too hot on his pillow. He swipes a shaking hand over his forehead and down his eyes.

Something shifts against his side. He’s halfway across the room with a hand wrapped around the base of a lamp before he realizes he even moved. A quiet jingle from the direction of the bed prompts him to slide trembling fingers up to the lamp switch. The room snaps into dull yellow light.

The fuchsia collar poised by the edge of the mattress tilts slightly. Kevin takes a deep, steadying breath and lets it out between pursed lips. “Fritzy, what are you doing here?”

The monster doesn’t answer, of course. Leaving the light on, Kevin steps back toward the bed and sits on the side. He scratches his thigh through the flannel of his pajama pants as Fritzy sidles up to him. Someone must have let it into his room after he passed out. Come to think of it, he doesn’t remember going to bed at all. Oh God, he hopes Sam didn’t have to carry him again. That’s just… embarrassing.

A tentacle snaking up his back makes him flinch before he catches himself. Kevin sighs and looks down at the empty space next to his hip.

“I’m probably not falling asleep again any time soon. You gonna stay here?”

He has no idea why he keeps asking questions of a mute monster, but Fritzy scuttles up toward the headboard, and one of the pillows partially indents with the monster’s unseen weight. Kevin follows after a beat, settling stiffly on his back with his hands on his chest. His fingers twiddle against each other for a moment.

“…Would you… um…”

Answering pressure on his shoulder guides him to turn away onto his side. Kevin draws his knees up a bit as Fritzy jingles and presses itself against his back. A few tentacles thread up into his hair, and more slide down over his arms and the side of his thigh. They rub soothingly for a minute, and Kevin pillows his face on the back of his hand as he tries to relax away the remnants of his nightmare.

When the first tentacle tip skates along the side of his ribs, he closes his eyes and bites his lower lip. It’s soon joined by two more. They coordinate like large-scale wiggling fingers, rippling in a wave pattern down his side and back up again. Kevin shivers, bites back a giggle. It’s harder to hold it in when a matching set starts the same pattern on his other side, the one pressed firmly into the bedding. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how Fritzy can just slip through matter at will and still manage a featherlight touch that trails across skin like it’s bared to the open air.

His knees curl up tighter toward his elbows, and the ticklish distraction accomplishes its task perfectly; the fading details of his dream fall into complete obscurity. He wriggles and huffs a smile into his pillow. Even if he doesn’t get back to sleep tonight, at least he has good company.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to read more about Kevin & Fritzy, check out [Kevin and the Monster](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9556814) by prodigal_anon!


	12. Chapter 12

Sam usually carries a subtly somber undertone with him, no matter how pleasant he actually is. But this is far more than that – his scent is sour, almost fermented, steeped in an ugly emotion Fritzy doesn’t know how to identify. It’s eating like acid at the edges of Sam’s composure as he sits, alone, in his room.

Fritzy hesitates at the door. It’s not closed, so there’s no rule against going inside, but Fritzy feels like it might be unwelcome. Sam hasn’t picked his head up from between his hands for a while, so Fritzy moves a little more purposefully in place, making the bell on its collar jingle.

Sam lifts his face, and the pungent tang in the air lessens slightly. Not because he actually feels any differently, but because he’s trying to contain it. Fritzy is surprised that it works even a little.

“Hey, Fritzy. I’m not really… I can’t feed you right now. You should go find Dean.”

Fritzy’s been getting better at interpreting the Talls’ sounds in conjunction with their active scents. It knows that what Sam is saying isn’t why it’s here. Fritzy jingles again and pushes the door slightly wider as it enters the room. Then it stops for a second, and decides that the Closed Door Rule might be better for Sam right now. It carefully pushes the door shut behind it.

A little bud of Understanding scents the room, and then Sam lets go of whatever hold he’d been keeping on his emotions. The air floods with Sadness and Embitterment as he swings his legs up on the bed and pats a space for Fritzy in front of where he curls on his side. Fritzy jumps up and pushes in close, pressing itself up against Sam’s chest. His face smells like brine.

Fritzy wraps its tentacles around him, not constricting but comfortingly snug. It makes sure its primary tentacles fall along the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders, and over as much of his back as possible. Fritzy starts a low humming purr, the primaries’ nubbed undersides gently buzzing with a soothing frequency into Sam’s tense muscles.

Sam curls an arm over Fritzy’s invisible body and takes a long, uneven breath, then sighs it out. A tentacle pulls through Sam’s hair, repeatedly smoothing it back in the modified nestmate-comfort move that Fritzy has learned works similarly for most of the Talls. Fritzy still doesn’t know what’s wrong, but the heavy melancholy slowly wanes from the air, little by little, as Sam relaxes under its ministrations.

After a long while, the bitter energy has mostly faded, and Sam just smells like Tiredness. Fritzy still wants to help him feel good, though, not just this bland neutral that’s dry like the leftover salty residue on his cheeks. The tentacle in Sam’s hair trails down to his chest, toward one side of his stomach. It flicks softly: a question. Sam inhales and blinks down at the spot.

“…Not too much, okay?”

Fritzy squeezes a little in acknowledgement. It’s not interested in a meal, it just wants Sam to feel better.

That one tentacle flicks again, the tip falling into a slow, gentle rhythm of little circles that meander down Sam’s side. Sam squirms minutely, ducks his face further into the pillow that cushions his head. He huffs when the circles trace along the lower edge of his ribcage, then down around his navel. He squirms a little more, flashing the corner of his teeth in a smile as he tightens his grip around Fritzy.

The light tickles go on for a little while, never more than one tentacle at a time and not pulling much more than two or three actual giggles out of Sam. Those are delicately sweet, but Fritzy purposely doesn’t chase them. By the time Sam’s been grinning steadily for a few minutes, the air is lighter and Sam’s energy has lost the remaining ripples of its dark undercurrent.

Fritzy stops then, purring a bit more strongly as it drags a tentacle through Sam’s hair again. Sam huffs once more and smiles into his pillow.

“Thanks, Fritzy.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Loopy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13537536) by [Strings (fangirlgeekout)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirlgeekout/pseuds/Strings)




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